


with her killer graces and her secret places

by handyhunter



Category: Elementary (TV), The Good Wife
Genre: F/F, crossover fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handyhunter/pseuds/handyhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If I were a better writer, this would be a long, plotty, complex fic about some clients of Lockhart & Gardener being involved in some crimes (like maybe Sweeney has disappeared, LG need him for something or rather, and the last person to see him alive was his wife, Isobel Swift, who currently resides in NYC and is the victim of a robbery, but it’s sort of looking like an inside job, so the police are wondering if she’s in on Sweeney’s disappearance, did she make him disappear, etc) that fall under Gregson’s jurisdiction and Holmes & Watson’s purview, with Kalinda being sent to investigate what’s happening and maybe (definitely) using her relationship with Joan to get more info, but instead, I have 5 Joan/Kalinda ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with her killer graces and her secret places

**1\. They’re just bees.**

Joan shivers in the cool night air and leans in closer to Kalinda. “Did you know that your accent gets stronger when you’re around him?” 

Kalinda looks Holmes up and down like this is his fault. It probably is. “No, I didn’t,” she says, and goes back to studying the bees. She slips her hand in Joan’s coat pocket and tangles their cold fingers together. If Holmes notices, he doesn’t comment on it, but then he’s staring fairly intently at the bees too. 

“So, you two met in London?” Joan asks, curious about them, as individuals and at the nature of their relationship. She’s almost completely convinced that Kalinda is not the person Holmes very emphatically does not talk about. 

“Sure,” says Kalinda, glancing at her from underneath her eyelashes. “I spent some years there.” 

Holmes only says, “Mmm,” in what could be agreement or distraction. “How do you like the bees?”

Kalinda shrugs. She looks at Joan. “They’re bees.”

Joan tugs on Kalinda’s jacket belt with her free hand, drawing her backwards to the rooftop entrance. “I think we’ll call it a night. See you in the morning, Holmes.”

Holmes nods in their general direction. “Goodnight, Watson. Ms. Sharma.” 

 

**2\. She has a game to watch.**

“Do you remember that Swift case from a few weeks ago?” Kalinda says, even before Joan has time to say hello.

Joan shifts the phone to a more comfortable position between her ear and shoulder. “Um, hello?”

“The Swift case,” Kalinda says again, tenacious as ever. “Was there anyone named Colin Sweeney involved?”

“Ah-ha!” Joan finds the remote under a pile of Holmes’ discarded outerwear. She shoves all of that to the far end of the couch and settles in to watch a game. It’s not her beloved Mets, but any baseball will do in a pinch. 

“I don’t think you’re listening to me.”

“I am, I am,” Joan reassures her. She mutes the television and concentrates on Kalinda’s query. “Sweeney? ...Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Damn. Ok.” Kalinda hangs up with as little ceremony as her greeting. 

Joan looks at the phone and then tosses it gently onto the coffee table. She’s got a game to watch.

Half an hour later, just as the game is getting interesting, Joan’s phone rings again.

“Hi,” says Kalinda. “I probably should have led with that, huh?”

Joan smiles. “Hello, yourself.”

 

**3\. The Windy City**

Joan swings the baseball bat and misses. Again.

“Wow. You’re terrible at this.” Kalinda laughs at her. Despite the heat and having already taken a turn in the batting cage, she still looks incredible.

“Shh. I’m concentrating.” Joan looks away from Kalinda in time to register a another baseball headed her way; for a batting cage intended for slow pitches, they sure come up fast. She swings wildly and manages to connect with the ball this time. She feels the reverberation all the way up her shoulder, but the ball only travels a pitifully short distance. When her ten pitches are up, Joan gladly gives back all the baseball equipment. “That was fun,” she says, and means it.

Kalinda is still laughing at her. She loops her arm through Joan’s, bringing them closer than is strictly necessary to walk down the sidewalk. “I had no idea you didn’t know how to hit a baseball.”

Joan shrugs. “I like watching the game, not playing it.”

“Clearly.” 

“You were pretty good, though.” Joan was a little surprised, at first, given that Kalinda has not shown any particular liking for the game and cannot name any teams despite passing several people in White Sox jerseys.

Kalinda smiles, a little sharp and full of secrets. “I’ve always been handy with a baseball bat.”

 

**4\. You don’t call, you don’t write.**

“Speedball,” Holmes mutters under his breath, breaking his promise not to talk during baseball games. Joan doesn’t hold out much hope that he’ll remember in a theatre either.

“Fastball,” Joan corrects. “This is baseball, not a Springsteen song.”

“No. Well, yes. But I mean the drug cocktail.” 

Joan watches him exit the room and sighs. She gives the game one last lingering look and follows him. “Uh, Holmes?”

He’s thumbing through their case notes. “Don’t worry. It’s not for me.”

“The toxicology report hasn’t come back yet,” she says futilely. Knowing Holmes, he’ll deduce the information from the victim’s blood panel from the way he sorted his socks. “The police don’t think drugs were involved.”

He gives her a look that tells her what he thinks of the police. Secretly, she agrees with him, but she likes to make him work for her approval. The doorbell rings just then, surprising them both.

Joan opens the front door and leans on the door frame, projecting nonchalance as much as she can. “You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t reply to _any_ of my messages. I was starting to think you broke up with me and forgot to let me know.”

“We’re not in a relationship, remember?” In her boots, Kalinda is a good three inches taller than a barefoot Joan, who straightens up as Kalinda reaches for her. “I’ve been caught up at work. You know how it goes.”

Joan stands on her tiptoes, balancing on Kalinda’s arm, so they’re almost eye-to-eye. “I could’ve sworn there were phones in Chicago the last time I visited.”

“Yeah, well... Surprise?” says Kalinda, with a tiny forgive-me? smile. And Joan is lost, between that smile, those boots and this kiss.

 

**5\. Why does a consulting detective need a consultant?**

Abreu scowls and says, “No.”

“But Detective--”

“No,” says Abreu again. He doesn’t budge from his position in the doorway. “You and Watson, sure, the Captain has approved it, but I can’t be letting everyone in here. It’s a crime scene, Holmes!”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Abreu does not dignify that with a reply.

Kalinda looks at Joan and shrugs. “This isn’t my city. I have no pull with these guys,” she says quietly, then raises her voice just enough so Abreu can hear her clearly. “You two go ahead. I’ll meet you at your apartment later.”

“What are you going to do?” Joan whispers back, but Kalinda merely gives her a small shove in the direction of the front door. Holmes has already gone through, with Abreu on his heels. A different policeman, standing guard in front of the crime scene tape, gives her a nervous smile as she approaches.

What Kalinda does is commandeer a NYPD jacket and cap, from whom she doesn’t say, and sneaks in through the back. She manages to blend in well enough to sneak up to the guest room where the murder has taken place. Both Joan and Abreu do a double take when they see her.

Abreu beats Joan to it. “What are you doing here?” he demands.

“Ah! Kalinda, there you are,” says Holmes, ignoring Abreu. “What do you think?”

“She can’t be in here,” insists Abreu.

“I need a consultant,” Holmes counters.

“Why does a consultant need a consultant?”

Kalinda taps Joan’s hand and nods at a small painting on the wall. It’s hanging askew and isn’t large enough to hide a wall safe. Joan looks back at her, confused.

“It’s a fake,” says Kalinda. “Doesn’t fit with the rest of the victim’s stuff.”

“How do you know?” There is nothing about the painting that screams ‘fake’ to Joan, not that she’s an art expert, but maybe Kalinda is, in her spare time.

“Lockhart Gardener have the original,” she says. “Or, theirs is a fake and I’ll have to break the bad news when I get back. Either way, it’s worth looking in to.”

Joan heads over to check it out as Holmes explains, “Even consultants need help from time to time. Granted, not as often as the police seem to need help, which is not as often as they _ask_ for it.” Abreu frowns at this, so Holmes continues on. “Ms Watson and Ms Sharma offer me insight from perspective I...”

“Lack?” Kalinda fills in.

“Sometimes forget to consider,” says Holmes.

Abreu doesn’t look all that convinced, but he gives them all another five minutes before escorting them off the premises. “Come back tomorrow,” he offers, “if Gregson clears it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This probably is out of character for Holmes, but that is the direction I would like the show to go in. At least to acknowledge that being brilliant does not necessarily mean knowing everything, and that his ability to see patterns and clues is shaped by his experiences as a wealthy white man, so he might not have the insight or knowledge that someone else, with different experiences, would have.


End file.
